


eavesdropper

by kinkykawa



Series: youngblood (miyacest one-shots) [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Established Relationship, Incest, Jealous Osamu, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, Twincest, marked underage bc they're in high school but nothing spicy happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkykawa/pseuds/kinkykawa
Summary: She’s taking a while to confess, this girl. Usually by now, Atsumu is telling them he’s sorry, he doesn’t want to be in a relationship, doesn’t want to focus on anything but school and volleyball. But Osamu shows up in time to hear Narasaki say that she wouldn’t mind if Atsumu put volleyball first — she knows how it feels to prioritize extra-curriculars, after all — but she feels they’d be compatible. A good fit.(The tucked-away, vindictive part of Osamu thinks,what do you know.What do any of these people know about Atsumu, about how to fit against him. They aren’t the ones who entered the world first, born already waiting for their other half to follow after them. They aren’t the ones against whom all of Atsumu’s ragged edges fit.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Series: youngblood (miyacest one-shots) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933474
Comments: 5
Kudos: 324





	eavesdropper

**Author's Note:**

> written as a request for T, who asked for jealous/possessive osamu and some hurt/comfort! i went with osamu eavesdropping on atsumu receiving confessions 👀 i wrote most of this at like, 3am so if something doesn't make sense i'll fix it later. did a quick check after writing for any glaring errors, but anything else will be retroactively edited. have some T rated osaatsu before i get to the spicier requests XD
> 
> again, this is posted to the anonymous collection for a reason!!

It’s fairly common knowledge around Inarizaki High that Miya Atsumu receives plenty of confessions.

For the boy’s volleyball team, this is an amusing (if perplexing) phenomenon. Most students only focus on Atsumu as he is on the volleyball court — terrifyingly skilled, lethally focused; a menace and a threat to any opposition. They see his intensity, his fierce and unwavering approach to volleyball, and find it attractive. Even the way Atsumu snarls and snaps at their supporters becomes alluring, a thrill for girls and boys looking to tame him, get him to settle. It’s a far cry from the reality of Atsumu’s terrible personality — his arrogance, his demanding nature, his shitty jokes and obnoxiousness; his apathy to most things not volleyball.

Most of Atsumu’s teammates feel that one day, the student body at large will realize this unpleasant gap moe, and give up on finding Atsumu attractive entirely.

For Osamu, though, the confessions that Atsumu receives are an inconvenience at best, especially if he gets dragged into them somehow. At worst—

It’s a girl from Class 5, this time; a pretty girl, who plays the flute for the school’s band and leads their year in English class. Thankfully she hasn’t enlisted Osamu’s help, but somehow it’s worse, because she simply marches up to their classroom and asks to speak with Atsumu. The boy in question looks up disinterestedly from where he, Osamu, Suna, and Ginjima are having lunch. When he catches sight of the girl — Narasaki, if Osamu remembers right; Narasaki Yui, such a pretty girl, confident and sweet — Atsumu sighs and stands from his desk.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch my tamago,” he mutters as he stalks out of the room, barely glancing Narasaki’s way.

Osamu waits three seconds after Atsumu leaves the room, then snatches up a piece and pops it into his mouth defiantly.

(He’s the one who cooked the eggs anyway, so Atsumu can talk all the shit he wants.)

Around them, their classmates whisper excitedly, wondering if Atsumu will reject Narasaki, if he’ll give her a chance, if she’ll finally be the one to win the Miya Atsumu challenge. Suna rolls his eyes, while Ginjima smirks as he returns to his sandwich. Osamu fiddles with his chopsticks disinterestedly, staring out the window.

All of Narasaki’s sweetness and confidence won’t do her any good. It doesn’t matter who confesses; Atsumu only ever answers one way, after all.

The whispers in the classroom are starting to die down when Osamu shuts his bento and stands from his seat. Suna glances up at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Gonna buy a drink,” Osamu says in response to the unasked question, digging around for his wallet. “Ya want anythin’?”

“Pass,” Suna mutters, turning back to his phone.

“I’m good,” Ginjima adds, waving him off.

Osamu grunts, then leaves the classroom.

The vending machines are on the first floor, in the corner near the cafeteria. Osamu stops there first, buys a can of peach tea. Then he makes his way to the other end of the corridor, across the small quad and around the side of the practice building. Slowly, quietly, he walks until he’s standing beside some discarded school festival props — just within earshot of the ongoing confession.

She’s taking a while, this girl. Usually by now, Atsumu is telling them he’s sorry, he doesn’t want to be in a relationship; doesn’t want to focus on anything but school and volleyball. But Osamu shows up in time to hear Narasaki say that she wouldn’t mind if Atsumu put volleyball first — she knows how it feels to prioritize extra-curriculars, after all — but she feels they’d be compatible. A good fit.

(The tucked-away, vindictive part of Osamu thinks, _what do you know_. What do any of these people know about Atsumu, about how to fit against him. They aren’t the ones who entered the world first, born already waiting for their other half to follow after them. They aren’t the ones against whom all of Atsumu’s ragged edges fit.

This is how Osamu feels when he looks at Atsumu, all the bright and irritating and twisted parts of him, this boy who has always existed in his life:

 _You were born for me,_ a fundamental truth, incontrovertible and irrevocable. _You were born for me, you were born with me, you are half of me, you are mine._ )

Osamu leans against the wall, tucking himself beside a stack of painted boards so he’s partially hidden. He cracks open his drink and takes a swig. Then he closes his eyes and waits.

“Sorry,” Atsumu says, not sounding sorry at all. “I really don’t care about this shit, and I ain’t interested in much else but volleyball.”

“I know,” Narasaki answers, “but—”

“But nothin’.” There’s a flat finality in Atsumu’s voice, one that brooks no further argument. “S’ that all? Ya interrupted my lunch.”

There’s a pointed, pregnant pause, then a disparaging noise. “Very well,” Narasaki says, and to her credit, her voice is equally firm. “Thank you for hearing me out, at least, Miya-san.”

“Sure thing,” Atsumu responds. Osamu can picture the accompanying unsympathetic shrug. His lips twitch up.

Footsteps make their way over, but Osamu’s confident he won’t be noticed. And sure enough, Narasaki walks right past him. He watches her go, her head held high and shoulders squared. She looks disappointed but resigned. She won’t be one of those who try again, press a little further, before they learn to stop trying.

In another life, Osamu might feel sorry for them — for trying at all, for deciding _Atsumu_ of all people is deserving of their affection. In another life, he might even try and help them; give them advice or send them on their way, tell them it’s hopeless. In this life, he huffs, soft and vindictive, and drops the empty can to his feet. The crunch it makes under his heel is immensely satisfying.

(In another life, he would admit out loud the envy he feels for the way these people freely express their adoration and desire. So fortunate to be open about what and who they want.)

“Thought ya might be here,” comes a sly voice to his right, interrupting his thoughts. Osamu looks up to find Atsumu standing there, corner of his mouth curled in cat-canary amusement. “Listenin’ in on people’s private conversations?”

“More like makin’ sure ya weren’t doing anything stupid,” he counters. The concrete grates at his shoulders through his uniform as he shrugs. “Easier to bail ya outta trouble now than later.”

Instead of a retort, his teasing is met with silence. Atsumu just looks at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed as if he were watching an opponent instead of his twin. Osamu holds his gaze, refusing to betray anything he’d felt in the last five minutes.

Atsumu’s grin unfurls all over again, smug. “Whatcha gonna do then, huh?” he asks in provocation. Osamu rolls his eyes before pushing off the wall. He grabs Atsumu by the tie and hauls him back round the corner, sparing the briefest glances around to make sure they’re alone. Then he leans in and kisses that infuriating smirk right off his twin’s mouth.

It’s not a gentle kiss — there are few things gentle about Osamu, on or off the court. He bullies his way into his twin’s mouth, nipping at a bottom lip, one hand twisting in Atsumu’s hair and pulling. Atsumu’s hands curl into fists on the front of his blazer, tugging Osamu forward, close, close, _close._

When they break apart, Atsumu lets out a laugh under his breath and sneaks a hand round Osamu’s hip, tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. “Maybe ya should quit bein’ such a masochist and listenin’ to people confess to me.”

Osamu snorts, pulling harder at Atsumu’s hair until he winces, until his twin’s breath hitches in his throat. “Maybe I like listenin’ to ya reject ‘em,” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips over Atsumu’s neck. “Maybe I like makin’ a mess of you afterwards, makin’ ya remember who ya belong to.”

“Yeah?” The smug lilt in Atsumu’s voice almost makes Osamu briefly want to bite down, but he’s always had more restraint. He turns his head, catching Atsumu’s mouth in another hard kiss, then pulling back before it gets too far. His own mouth quirks in satisfaction as Atsumu scowls at him, making a face as he straightens himself out, rearranges his uniform and swipes the back of his hand over his lips. When he looks back, Atsumu is also neat and tidy again, with just a lingering flush on his cheeks and a slight reddening of his lips.

“As if I’d ever forget,” his twin answers belatedly, reaching out to cup Osamu’s jaw and slip the tip of his thumb between Osamu’s lips. And Osamu knows what Atsumu’s saying, under the arrogance, the cheekiness.

( _I was born for you,_ is Atsumu’s answer, just as irrefutable. _I followed you into this world, and so you are half of me, too. You are mine._ )

Osamu stares at him for a moment, then huffs.

“C’mon,” he mutters, jerking his head to the side. “Ya made me interrupt my lunch, asshole.”

Atsumu looks ready to protest, but Osamu starts walking before his twin can get a word out. He doesn’t have to look back, though; he already knows Atsumu will follow after him.

(It doesn’t matter, the envy he feels, the sudden flaring resentment. In the end, it’s against him that Atsumu and his ragged edges fit. They were born for each other, they are half of each other.

 _You are mine._ )

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, and i hope y'all liked that 👀 i'm over at [@kinkykawa_](https://twitter.com/kinkykawa_) on twitter if you guys wanna say hi, talk more miyacest, or find out how to request more content!


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